


Doctor, Doctor

by vaynes



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Plotline, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Exposition, F/M, OC backstory, Slow Build, Slow Burn, believe me i want it just as much as you, slight ambiguity as to specific canon-related details, tenth class?, there will be no romance of any sort going on for quite some time CALM yourselves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-12 04:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20155399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaynes/pseuds/vaynes
Summary: As it turns out, one of the most unfortunate mistakes the CEO of an international, omnipotent company can make is blackmailing and backstabbing his rival into submission. You're caught in the periphery of a plot to restore the natural order: but how exactly do you fit into this violent, maniacal universe?





	1. CHAPTER ONE

They had been found out. As it had turned out, BLU and RED were not infallible, nor was one required for the other to exist. The unfortunate series of events that had led to the downfall of RED was uncertain, but backstabbing and blackmailing on an intergovernmental level had won the BLU team the favour of the US authorities - and just enough power to overwhelm their rivals. RED was thrown into the maw of the beast, extensive cover-ups ensuring no-one knew the parallel purpose of BLU. The raid on the RED base had caught them _all_ by surprise. Most of them had lost track of a regular sleeping schedule long ago, but even those who were awake, roaming the halls or tinkering in their rooms, were taken by surprise. In hindsight, their captors had planned their actions magnificently - not a single one of them suspected it. Not one of them could effectively counter them. Not one of them escaped.

Though they had been somewhat unwitting participants in what had turned out to be a scheme much larger than their own knowledge, it was fatally obvious to the instigators of this investigation that the mercenaries had remained for their own sick pleasure. Kill, die, revive, repeat - it had become like a drug to them all, something that became perfectly apparent when they were taken away from it. Their trials had been for show, juries paid off, and evidence skewed. The investigators needed them dead, the authorities needed to showcase their ‘crimes against humanity’. That way, they could justify their executions, keep the continued domination of BLU under wraps, and avoid a breach of information on a scale unforeseen by anyone.

Nine men were sentenced to death, and the world was too stunned by the revelation of the larger picture to care for the finer details.

\----

  
“Doctor?” Slamming shut the file resting in your lap, your head whipped round to the source of the voice. “Everything has been cleared. You may proceed, although armed guards will be with you at every point.” You weren’t entirely certain if that reassured you. “Just a precaution. Everyone in here is under secure lockdown.”

_Yeah, right._

The last time you had been told that about a patient, they had nearly gouged your eyes out with a spoon. What kind of prison gives an inmate a spoon?

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I trust the prison guard know the purpose of my visit?” Gathering your stuff, you joined the soldier by the entrance.

“Affirmative. Although, I must say,” glancing over his shoulder to his C.O, the man leaned a little closer. “They all think you’re just as insane as they are, wanting to speak to them ’n all that.”

Chuckling, you placed a reassuring hand on the soldier’s decorated shoulder.

“Takes one to psychologically evaluate one, I suppose.” If they wanted to think you were insane, then so be it. With a smile that was perhaps a little too toothy to be considered perfectly ordinary, you gathered your stuff, heading through the guarded door. The promised guards flanked you, prompting a disgruntled huff from your already-present companion, displeasure likely only heightened by the arrival of your escort. Thankfully, the three

Completing the psychological evaluations of these men had been something that you had damn near risked your job for. You had been admonished and chastised by superiors for the mere mention of even attempting one, met with a barrage of excuses: ‘They’re clearly all insane’, ‘They’ll be dead soon, what’s the point?’ ‘Don’t let them poison your mind!’. In fact, it had taken a report, released from the copious amount of classified information found on the RED and BLU bases, to even get you beyond the point of being forcibly removed from your superior’s office. Eventually, they had resigned themselves to the fact that you wouldn’t rest until you had what you wanted.

So here you were. Textbook, pen, and clipboard in hand, headed down on to death’s row. There had been some psychological information available on the files, prior to their incarceration, so you were not entirely without knowledge. In fact, perusing those files had simply left you believing that some of these men _were_, in fact, utterly insane. You had been discouraged by the first few you read through the dossiers - arsonist, drunkard, delusional and deranged - but a few had been promising. Concerning, but promising. If these men were to die, however, you were determined that you would get _something _from them. They had lived such fascinating lives, after all.

“Ma’am.” Your companion - your ever-lurking shadow, the man you were trusting to be skilled enough to dispatch of any threats to your livelihood - held open the door to the main living space of the institution. You knew him well, and you knew that he would do everything within his power to keep you safe. You also knew that he disapproved of this idea of yours. “I don’t mean to sound out of order, but I think this is an awful idea.”

“So you’ve said, Arthur. Several times.” His concern warmed your heart, but it was unnecessary. Since coming to America from England, the two of you had done significantly more dangerous things than sit in a room with a man. A homicidal, likely sociopathic genius of a man, but still a man.

“You could have picked someone else.” And the other thing. “What about the French one?”

“He’s literally called ‘The Spy’, Arthur. If anything, he’d be amongst the _last _I’d be picking for a _psychological evaluation_.” For a man whose professional history was likely long, decorated, and bloody, the Spy’s file had been mysteriously absent of _any_ notable action. Even his time working as a mercenary was voided - how he had managed that was beyond you. It hadn’t stopped him being detained along with the rest and now, it wouldn’t stop him from being executed, either.

“What about that engineer guy, then? He seemed friendly…”

“Deceptively so. Did you know that he relinquished himself of his own arm so that he could replace it with a mechanical one?”

“What?!”

Clearly, Arthur hadn’t _actually_ read the files. Next he’d be recommending you assess the Soldier for his long service record.

“Arthur, I’ve made up my mind.” Presenting your ID to a guard stationed at one of the many doors this maze of a place possessed, you turned to your companion. “I’m afraid you’re just going to have to momentarily displace your fear of doctors.”

\----

You were young enough to be considered still green by some of the more weathered in your profession, but not inexperienced. Certainly, you were not lacking for enthusiasm. Your mentor had once jokingly noted that your lust for knowledge would be the death of you - the irony of this was not lost on you, as you headed downstairs to meet face-to-face with a man some actively brandished a mad scientist.

You had all of your notes. You had his entire medical history. His entire _l__ife_ was contained within the folder in your hands - that was not power one had access to on a regular basis. The thought thrilled you. Besides, he would be chained to the table. You hadn’t even seen the door to his room yet. Yet, your heart raced in your chest, your throat was dry, and each shallow breath drawn did not aid this fact. You were nervous, yes, but impatient to get stuck in. This was going to be the most fascinating assessment you would ever conduct.

Your giddiness didn’t ease when your escort announced your arrival at his cell. Your otherwise neutral visage wavered, mouth twitching up in a brief grin. A large, comforting hand fell on your shoulder, and you started. Now is not the time to get wrapped up in your own excitement. Silently, you thanked Arthur for the support. Taking a deep breath, you turned to address your escort.

“Just to double check we have the right person-“

“The Medic, yes?” The woman escorting you, now stationary, appeared all too keen to leave you to it. Drawing in a long breath through her nose, her weight shifted to her right leg. “Interesting choice.”

“Uh… Yeah. His name is-“

“Don’t call them by their real names.” Another shift. Her eyes darted around you. “They don’t like it.”

“Seriously?” You were being expected to carry out a full psychological examination of a man you’d never met before, and you weren’t even allowed to use his _name_? “I understand that this is a tricky situation but-“

“Just.” She paused, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Please. Call them by their class titles. You’ll get much further doing that. We really wouldn’t want to cause an incident.”

You didn’t miss the inflection in that last sentence - a threat. Arthur bristled, arm brushing your shoulder as he grew closer. You felt your teeth grinding, took a breath in through your nose, and smiled. No point getting angry right now. You did get yourself into this situation, after all.

“Of course. I’ll make sure to stick to that.” Not that your clipped words belayed anything other than displeasure.

“Great!” She was visibly relieved, and her eyes finally settled on yours. “In that case, you’re more than welcome to head in! The guards will be waiting outside.”

Peculiar woman. She had outright intimidated you, but with your agreement, had perked up like a puppy presented with a bone. Nodding gratefully in her direction, you turned to open the handle.

“Oh!” Damn woman. “One more thing.” Turning back to her with thinly-veiled irritation, your lip curled up. “He can’t go in with you.”

“He’s coming in.” You felt your teeth grinding again.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to comprimise. This has to be a one-on-one evaluation, as per the contract.” Sharp incisors pierced the flesh of your cheek, and you cracked a knuckle. “Apologies if it wasn’t clear enough.”

“Fine.” The woman didn’t even flinch at the venom in your voice. “I’m going in now, if that’s all.”

You could feel Arthur fuming at your side, helpless, thus unable to do the one thing he was there to do: help. That damnable woman - there was something about her to give you suspicion enough that argument would get you nowhere, except a broken wrist, maybe. Turning away from her, you let your hand rest on the handle of the door. Blood thundering in your ears drowned out anything Arthur might have said to you in that moment, but the ever-calming touch of his hand on your back calmed the rapid rise and fall of your chest somewhat. You were doubting whether you’d even be in a fit state to conduct an assessment, at this point. Maybe this _was_ a bad idea.

_Oh well. Too late now._


	2. CHAPTER TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As previously mentioned, I have about 5,500 words of this done already - three chapters, more or less. It'll ramp up, I promise. I just really feel the need to set the scene of the universe this is set in (diverging from canon slightly) and the introduce the characters of my own design into aforementioned universe. Here's more exposition, a lot more dialogue, and a very peculiar character introduction. The third chapter will come when I'm absolutely happy with it - then the rest may be a tad slower (but hopefully not too much!). Enjoy!

Their faces had been imprinted onto the collective memory of a nation, on the day of their capture; nine men, of varying ages and nationalities, all criminals, all sentenced to die for their heinous crimes. No one actually mentioned _what_ the crimes were, but to many, it did not seem to matter. Mutters of mass-murder, inhumane experimentation, money laundering, fraud and treason spread around your office for days after the sentence was passed. In two weeks, these nine men would be dead. The politics of it were all very proper, wonderfully so. BLU remained under the radar, RED put to death. The battle of the primary colours was settled.

\----

You were terribly melodramatic, sometimes. In the days leading up to this visit, you had built this moment up in your mind: you would open the door, and there he would sit. A machiavellian mad scientist, a doctor without his medical license, drawn to the gore of combat to satiate his gruesome lust for knowledge of the human body. You weren’t entirely sure what that would actually look like.

“_Hallo_.”

You weren’t expecting him to be German, for some reason. Or at least, you _thought_ that was German. Of course he was German. You had read in his file, literally fifteen minutes ago, that he was German. You knew he was German.

_Get ahold of yourself, woman._

It was rare that the patient spoke first in an assessment. You hadn’t even had the chance to close the door before you were accosted by his steady stare, lips curling upwards with his greeting.

“Hello-“ You almost forgot yourself. “Medic.”

If he noticed your blunder, his face did not give it away. In fact, he was disconcertingly calm, given the circumstances. You shut the door behind you, breaking his gaze, and pulled out the seat opposite his. The _thwack_ of your folders hitting the table almost startled you, as though you hadn’t been the one to place them there.

“I was interested when I was informed that you wished to speak with me.” Your eyes returned to his, levelling with him.

“Oh?”

“I had thought that BLU’s little escapade would leave us fugitives of normal society.”

“You think I represent normal society?” A somewhat amusing observation of your role, but you supposed that must be how you appeared to him, in this moment. The last vestige of society as he knew it, long ago.

“_Ja_. It pleases me to see medical curiosity is still present amongst those of you that roam our wonderful world.” His teeth were _perfectly_ straight, grin a little crooked.

“I take it that medical curiosity is what led you to this unfortunate situation, yes?” His chuckle took you by surprise.

“You could say that.” Grinning still, he leaned a little forward, compromised in his movement by the chains binding him to a sturdy ring in the table. “So; how do you want to proceed?”

Bile rose in your throat. He held the power. Without you even realising, he was controlling the conversation. Swallowing felt like taking a pill without water. You chanced a glance away from his gaze, regarding your yet untouched notepad and pen. You snatched it up from next to your files, placing it in front of you as one might place a shield against a barrage of bullets.

“I want to talk about your motivations in working for RED.”

His eyes moved down to your notepad and, keenly aware of the visibility of any notes you might make, make a point of tilting it beyond his vision. Rigid posture unchanged, the subtle shift back in his chair was almost unnoticeable. Whatever made this man tick, you would get to the bottom of it.

“Isn’t it obvious?” You didn’t humour him with an answer, reserving your energy for the inevitable uphill battle to come. “A chance to learn.”

His answer didn’t surprise you. The way he phrased it did, however.

“Learn?” He hummed, lips now drawn into a straight, tight line. “As I understand it, your employers provided you and your coworkers with ample funds to research and design technology beyond what is available to even national governments…”

“Correct. So that’s precisely what we did.” You found it hard to believe that was his _only_ motivation. This wasn’t helpful. It was obvious from his portfolio that he was an academic - you needed to know more.

“And of the combat, then?” Not even a waver. “As I understand it, you all knew the nature of your day-to-day activities before you even signed the contracts.”

“Of course we did.” You barely stopped a grin at the slight inflection in his voice. That hint of irritation was the most reaction you had raised from the man yet. Not that you were here to get a reaction, of course. “I’m sure you would agree with me when I say it was too tempting an offer to miss.”

“How so?” You barely even registered the implication.

“Well, you wouldn’t know.” There was the arrogance you expected. “You’ve never died. I doubt you’ve ever shot a gun.”

A stutter in your heartbeat reminded you how acutely wrong he was. In a perverse way, it made you feel smug: you knew more than he did. You wished Arthur had been allowed to come in with you.

“Being able to practise medicine on living, breathing subjects - subjects who die _every day_ \- is an opportunity I shall never turn down. I was told I could do _whatever_ I wanted to them.” You had barely scribbled down a few words before your eyes returned to his. The steel in his eyes had an edge to it, even as his tone turned to melancholy. “I only wish I could have such an opportunity again.”

You could almost see the allure of it all. Unlimited resources, playthings… The potential for expanding your mind and probing those of others was appealing.

“Tell me.” He was leaning closer again. “Haven’t you ever felt restricted? How many people held you back from accessing this very room?” Teeth worrying at your lower lip, you swallowed, throat cracking dry. He was right. “I had _none_ of that. Utter freedom.” He was gloating, the bastard. Driving your teeth into your lip particularly ferociously, you turned away from his gaze.

“The battle provided a convenient excuse for you to practice otherwise unethical methods, then?” You almost felt _scolded_ when he scoffed, admonished by the man who was supposed to be your _subject_.

“Unethical or ethical is not the question we need to ask ourselves, _Kollege_. My work yielded results. Results that will likely be misappropriated by the American government for purposes wholly unsatisfactory.” His words were clipped, disdain evident. So, he believed he alone was entitled to the fruits of his work. Your left hand came up to your temple, rubbing absent-mindedly, relieving pressure you were not even aware had been building.

“You do not believe your discoveries should be shared?”

“If the _government_ is unwilling to sanction my methods, they should not be embezzling my work.” You regretted even asking, flinching back against the wrath in his voice, daring not to look up from your notes. “Progress that I have made should be mine alone to share with the world.”

At least this assessment wasn’t a complete failure. He was just as intellectual, capable, and irrational as you had imagined. Now, you knew what made him tick. His work - medicine, or whatever gory deviance he regarded ‘medicine’ to be - was his identity. Unwittingly, his capture and the subsequent liberation of his research had been the greatest thing the government could have done to cripple this man. You almost respected that.

“You would return, if given the chance.”

“In a heartbeat.” The words slid from his tongue with purpose; resonating with you as though it were your own future he spoke of. Meeting his eyes after such a prolonged break felt alien - like he _knew_ what you had realised. As if by habit, you checked your notes; he definitely couldn’t have seen what you had been writing. You were being paranoid.

“Very few men would admit to that-“

“_Very few _men would do the things I have done, _Kollege_.” You felt a distinct shudder pass down your spine, pressure building beneath your temples becoming more apparent.

“What does that word mean?” Fumbling, you repeated him. “_Kollege_…?”

“You’ll see in due time. This will not be our first and only meeting. Correct?”

“I suppose.” It definitely would not be your only meeting. You were on bought time, and you intended to use every penny of it. “But-“

The _slam_ of the door behind you had you jumping from your seat, pen rattling on the floor in the silence that followed.

“Apologies, ma’am. It’s been thirty minutes.”

_Fucking contract._

“Oh, her time is up?” He sounded almost _childlike_, mocking. You, or the guard?

“Yes. You need to return to your cell.” You daren’t look back towards the table, hastening to pick up your pen and folders. You didn’t want to leave - it horrified you.

“A shame.” He tutted, and you heard the chains rattle. “I must admit, it will be a nice change, hearing an _English_ accent. I was growing rather tired of all the Americans.”

_Will be?_

“Will be?” Your voice echoed your thoughts, the tension growing in your temples blossoming into a definite ache.

“Of course. In the future.” Feeling more than a little nauseous, you turned back to him. An all-too-pleasant smile was turned up towards you. “It has been a pleasure, Doctor.”


	3. CHAPTER THREE

Very few people knew the true nature of BLU and RED. The façade presented to the public was that of a black-ops sect gone rogue: a band of mercenaries acting as an offshoot of the United States Army, willing to do what no other men would, had become twisted and sadistic, their true noble purpose long forgotten. Of course, this was utterly incorrect. The lengths that Blutarch Mann had gone to - the backs that he had gone behind - to ensure the downfall of his life-long rival would never be known to the general public. A century of rivalry culminated in the greatest coup known to man - or in this case, unknown. Information leaked to the government was selective and minimal, hand-picked by those that cultivated it. Dossiers edited, crimes fabricated, prying eyes and poking fingers eluded. No one with ties to RED were spared; anyone considered to have a connection, imagined or real, were either dead, soon to be dead, or in forced hiding.

The issue with covertly eliminating your rival - who just happens to be the CEO of an extraordinarily powerful international multi-corporation umbrella company - was always going to be tying up the loose ends. And, of course, underestimation of the hired guns. Couple that with a sure death sentence for aforementioned hired guns - permanent, this time - and Blutarch Mann had little real idea of the furore he had unearthed; nor the increasingly impressive stock of his rival’s armoury.

\----

You deigned to never underestimate a patient again. Simply because one was in jail did not mean they were helpless. Nor that they lacked the capacity to win in a battle of wills against you.

“I told you that you should’ve picked the engineer.”

“Yes, well.” Huffing out an irritated breath as you took a seat next to Arthur - who had not _shut up _since you left that room, you purposefully stretched your legs a little too far onto his side of the settee. “I would never have guessed that a man who was willing to chop off his own arm for technology would appear _more_ sane than a medical professional.”

“Who _doesn't have his license!_” Arthur had hit the roof when you informed him of that small detail. Literally - the dent in your car’s roof was something you made sure he knew that _he_ would be paying to fix. “I can’t believe you withheld that from me.”

“It’s a small detail-“

“Please-“ Shoving your legs from him with a little too much force to be friendly, Arthur turned to you. “He _lost_ it. He didn’t just fail to obtain it. Someone has decided that man is unfit to practice medicine. You should know better than to talk to someone like that!” The truth of his statement didn’t make it any easier to swallow the fact that you may have made a mistake.

The whole assessment had been a write off, largely. Having had a few hours to reflect on it, you had resoundingly decided to wallow in your own failure to learn nothing about the man you had only two weeks to dissect completely. The whole thing had felt like a set-up; like he knew what you were going to ask, or even as if he had presupposed what you were like as a person. For the first time in your life, you felt thoroughly overwhelmed: you had dealt with some nasty people throughout your career, and this damned ‘medic’ was the worst of them all.

“I know.” Your tongue felt the welt resting on your lower lip, worn into it by nervous habit, worsened only by the stress of the last several hours. This would be a bitter pill to swallow, yes, but nothing you could not overcome. “But I _will_ see him again. Or at the very least, I'll see _one _of them again. I have to.” You _had _to prove this hadn't been a waste of time. That you weren't wasting their time.

“Maybe they were right to stop you from doing this.” Arthur’s stare was still set on you, concern and more than a little frustration clearly felt in his gaze. “I’ve never seen you as shaken as you were coming out of that room.”

Truth be told, you hadn’t felt an adrenaline come-down as tough as the one you felt leaving that room in _years_. Your hand ghosted over your ribcage, as if by habit, brushing memories long put aside. Humming, you considered just how _tired_ you were.

“I should really be going to bed soon. I’m exhausted-“

“I’m not surprised.”

“- and tomorrow will come early as ever.” Ignoring Arthur’s snipe, you stood yourself back up on your feet, which only complained more from the effort of further movement. Your lids felt like lead over your eyes, and the sting you felt as you rubbed your fingertips over them told you you needed _sleep_.

“Get a good rest.” Absent-mindedly, you nodded in agreement. “Don’t let what happened today keep you up. Please.”

_Oh, Arthur._

You didn’t deserve him. You needed him, but you didn’t deserve him.

\----

The same ache in your back woke you like clockwork - today was no different. A languid stretch, arms raised to brush the wall behind you, a crack or two, and it was gone. A distant memory. Your eyes were bleary, and if you were presented with the opportunity, you would happily switch rubbing the sleep from them for a few hours more.

A knock on your door broke your reverie, and you hitched the covers to cover yourself.

“Morning.” Arthur’s voice, unmarred by sleep, came from the other side of the door. He would have been awake for an hour yet, you thought, glancing at the clock on the wall. The man was like a machine…

“Coffee?”

“Please,” a cough to clear your throat. “That would be welcome.”

“Are you proper?”

“Ah, yeah.” You shuffled up the bed to better cover yourself. It was a rare occasion that Arthur actually catered for you like this. “Come in!”

He was already dressed, shirt pressed and neatly tucked, tray in his hands carrying… Two steaming cups. Something was up. The last time he bought _two_ cups, it was after a particularly bad, sleepless night. That was over a year ago.

“What’s up?” You were still feeling the fatigue of waking up - a dichotomy you had never been able to solve, and no quantity of sleep seemed to fix - but the promise of coffee would soon fix that.

“Drink your coffee.” He perched on the other side of the bed, sitting the tray between the two of you. “You’ll enjoy it.”

“You know I will.” One of the many benefits of your job was the pay. You could afford a nice house, nice clothes, nice food, and nice drink. Ignoring your more base desires, it was all you could have ever asked for, and was part of the reason you were hesitant to push the issue of the assessments on your superiors: they worked with mysterious tendencies, and you didn’t want years of hard work undone by a simple request. But you had what you wanted.

Silence sat comfortably between the two of you for some time; you, regaining some higher cerebral functions, him, biding his time. You knew what he was doing. Arthur’s job comprised of security and counselling, friendship and support, but it could be epitomised by simply stating that he was around to make you feel comfortable. So, that’s what he was doing.

“Arthur, I know you too well to know this means good news.” A swipe of the covers across your lips to rid yourself of residual coffee - more habit than intention, and met with a disapproving frown from Arthur - manifested your frayed nerves. “Lay it on me. Can’t imagine it’s awful.”

“We had file delivered this morning.”

“By God.” Mock horror coloured your visage, nearly forgetting yourself as you draw a hand across your chest. “Now I understand the severity of the situation. Inform the President.”

Not even a smile.

_Tough crowd._

“The mercenaries have escaped, ma’am.”

At that, you _did_ forget yourself.

“What?”

Your voice felt hollow, small. You could feel your vision tunnelling, focusing on Arthur like he was the only thing keeping you tied to yourself.

“All nine of the cells were found empty this morning. No sign of forced break-outs, lock picking… No incriminating evidence. No witnesses.” If the ringing in your ears didn’t abate somewhat, you wouldn’t even be able to hear him. “It’s almost impressive.”

It _was_. It was_ damn fucking impressive_ Fuck them.

“Glad you agree.”

“I… Did not realise I was speaking aloud. Apologies.” You were so _fucking_ irritated. All that work, for nothing. You had failed.

“It’s being considered a national security threat, on private channels. Some of the men are considered a great danger to public security.”

“Oh, yes.” The danger to the _public_. That _was_ an issue. “I suppose they should really find them again.”

Arthur blinked at you.

“They won’t catch them again.” Even as you said it, you felt the thrill of truth. Your breath came out as laughter. Those bastards had made it out into the wide world once more, and you just _knew_ they would _not_ come back. Or at least, they would not come back alive. They certainly would not be imprisoned again.

“I suppose not.”

Quiet settled over the pair of you again. You pulled your duvet back around you, mug discarded with a sigh, coffee grounds making your mouth feel like sand. The thought of those men, out amongst the general public, made you feel uncomfortable. They had no idea what they could do: what they _had_ done. Varying levels of unhinged, roaming the streets. You'd have to install another lock on your door. Prepare yourself for the, ‘I told you so’ speeches, admonishment from your higher-ups for wasting time on these men… On your ‘pet projects’, as one of them had sardonically branded them. At least you had been right about one thing - something was up.

The pair of you started at the knock on the door, quiet laughter as you realised how tense the silence had been. The bed groaned softly as Arthur stood, and with a gentle pat on the bed, he left to answer the knock. Glancing back at your clock with a furrowed brow, you pondered who might be looking to speak with you at such an early hour. Yes, your bosses were somewhat hard-line, but nothing-

A dull thump in the room next door sounded alarm bells in your head.

_This is what people who sleep naked fear the most, surely?_

Hurrying into whatever clothing you had disregarded by the side of your bed, underwear be damned, you were reaching for the small revolver kept below your pillow before you could even realise it. The habit you should have broken long ago. Momentary hesitation brushed aside, you pushed the weapon into a back pocket, thankful that you had the foresight to seek a model with safety installed.

You really needed to install another lock on your door. Your bedroom door. Home invaders were _not_ what you needed prior to seven in the morning. You felt your step waver as the reality hit you fully: the last thing you needed at seven in the morning was to have to _shoot_ someone. Bile burned your throat - the thought made your stomach churn.

“You can either come out, or we can remove you from your room manually.” A sigh. “Save us all some time and come out, please?”

_What the **fuck**_ _._

Either you were dreaming, someone had a twin, or you needed to go back to bed.

“Please, just come out, ma’am. It would save some time, and neither of us have much time right now.”

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

“You don’t even know who I am!”“Do you honestly believe I wouldn’t recognise your voice?” That same voice that had oh-so-calmly reminded you of the legal _fucking_ contract you had signed yesterday. “You’re in my house. I’ll ask once more: what the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

“Please come out so we can, at least, talk amiably.” As furious as you were, she made a good point. Talking through a door like this was stupid - she would have already shot straight through it, if she had intentions to kill you.

“If you shoot me, I will hunt you down.”

“Right.” The incredulity in her voice was all-too apparent; you could hardly blame her. “Please just come out. I’m working to a very strict schedule.”

Pulling the revolver from your pocket, you took a deep, shaking breath. Remember: the last thing you needed right now was to shoot someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YIKES I keep getting ideas for this fic & it's becoming dangerous... The doc I'm keeping in my writing programme for shorthand ideas is getting out of hand, and I'm just going to keep writing until I write myself into a knot or find a plot good enough for me to exploit to all hell. It's going to be a bumpy ride.
> 
> This is also the first piece of non-legal writing (or creative writing, full stop) I've done in approximately two years now, meaning it probably wasn't my greatest idea to take on a project (?) straight away, but I just couldn't stop myself...

**Author's Note:**

> I've completed nearly 5,500 words of this series already, and planned several chapters ahead, as an attempt to ground myself in the universe I have created. This is not a good sign. Unfortunately, my "shoot first, ask questions later" style of writing means this work might be subject to extensive reviews, minor and subtle changes, and a lot of shed tears. That last part is mainly pertaining to me.
> 
> In all seriousness, I hope you enjoy the first snippet of this strange concept I imagined up - a phrase (seen below) inspired me to write this, my mind got carried away, and I've become more than a little (re)invested in TF2 and VERY specifically the Medic, over the past few weeks. I thought I may as well take some creative liberties with that investment, and put it out into the unknown for critique. 
> 
> Aforementioned prompt: "When a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully."
> 
> ENJOY! Comments always welcome, for those that are still reading TF2 fanfic (I know you're out there) <3


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